


Hang On to the Night

by wocket



Category: Real Person Fiction
Genre: Coming Out, Diary/Journal, Dylric, Established Relationship, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-27 00:46:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19779835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wocket/pseuds/wocket
Summary: Senior year. Dylan comes out to his family but the fallout wreaks havoc on his relationship with Eric.





	Hang On to the Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dirtybandaid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirtybandaid/gifts).



_November 1, 1998_

If there’s a list of things mothers never want to see, I think I’ve stumbled across something to add. I came home early from work and saw that Dylan’s car was in the driveway. There was no reason to think anything was out of the ordinary. I went up to his room and opened the door, but he must not have heard me, because there he was on the bed, Eric Harris between his legs and his tongue down his throat. I closed his door and went back downstairs. 

That was three weeks ago; he hasn’t said anything to me since. Dylan has no idea that I know. I think he’d be embarrassed if I did. I honestly had no clue until the boys got sloppy that day.

I have always known in my heart that I would love my children unconditionally. To know Dylan has chosen such a difficult life for himself is harder to stomach than I expected. What I think makes the situation worse is who he’s chosen it with. Despite the numerous, lovely boys we’ve seen come in and out of Dylan’s life over the years, Dylan’s choice of beau is Eric Harris.

A parent wants love for their child, but what does it mean when your child loves someone like _that_? He seems so dark and controlling. Parents want the best for the children - all the things we never had for ourselves. Dylan deserves the best, even if he is still young and headstrong. Dylan choosing this life means there are things I’ll never be able to know or understand, and there’s not anything I can do to make his life any easier.

Since my discovery that afternoon, I’ve been watching the two of them, although I’ve tried not to spy or infringe on Dylan’s privacy. But I’m curious about what draws them together. It’s easy to imagine the things Eric likes about Dylan but what about the other way around? I have a desire to get to know Eric the same way I would if Dylan had a girlfriend. Eric may seem arrogant and brash, but Dylan always looks to him with respect. In fact — he’s always looking to him. Dylan’s eyes are on Eric every time he’s in the room. I wonder if Dylan knows he’s doing it.

From what I can tell, the two are regular boys in every other way. They often play video games until the wee hours of the morning, work on homework, go bowling… all the things normal 17-year-olds should be doing.

Sometimes I wonder if Dylan will ever tell me about this part of himself. I don’t think it’s on his radar. In the meantime, I wait, I watch, and I wonder.

—Sue

*

_December 2, 1998_

December in Littleton gets cold fast. I can tell the kids are looking forward to Christmas. Dylan talks about doing nothing all day long; the holidays can’t get here fast enough.

Eric comes over almost every day and if the boys aren’t here, they’re over at Eric’s house. They really are quite close. Some nights I dream that Dylan tells me everything; in the dreams we share a meal and he tells me what he’s thinking, he opens up and shares all of these things about himself without me even having to ask. Ha! Not my Dylan, not right now.

I won’t ask. I’m determined not to. I’ll wait until he’s ready to tell me something (anything).

—Sue

*

_December 8, 1998_

Dylan - sweet boy - opened Eric’s car door for him, thinking I couldn’t see anything. When he realized I’d seen it all, he looked angry. Horrified! We both watched as Eric drove away.

When Dylan came back into the house, he seemed agitated. I watched him pace in our living room, tucking his blond hair nervously behind his ears.

“Mom?”

“Yes, Dyl?”

“Can you come here?”

I walked back into the living room to join my son. Dylan was standing, so I stood, too. When he abruptly sat down, I followed suit and mimicked his body language.

“Mom,” he said again, like he’d been working up to it. His voice was serious. “I gotta tell you something.”

“What is it?” I tried to sound sympathetic. Could this be it?

He twisted his onyx ring nervously. “I’m bisexual,” Dylan admitted, looking anywhere but at me.

I moved to sit next to him. He seemed deeply ashamed. “That’s nothing to be embarrassed about, honey,” I told him. I didn’t know what to say to him but wanted to assure him that he’d be okay. “I still love you very much.”

“I know, mom,” he told me. Dylan took his hand back to keep fidgeting with his ring. “There’s more.”

“Oh?”

Dylan nodded his head.

“You can tell me anything, sweetheart,” I reassured him.

I could hear him swallow.

“Me and Eric… we’re… he’s my boyfriend,” Dylan admitted.

I smoothed a stray piece of his golden hair down. “I thought there might be something going on between the two of you.”

“Really?” Dylan looked at me for the first time since he’d walked back into the house. He seemed shocked.

“I know you better than you think.” He scoffed at that. “So is everything okay between you and Eric?” I asked, sensing that something might be going on. Why begin all of this otherwise?

“It’s great. That’s the problem,” he said.

Well, that was unexpected. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“I love him so much, mom, I just want to be able to do something about it.” Do something about it? He must have read the look on my face because he kept explaining. “You know, like hold his hand in public or at the movies. That kind of stuff.”

My heart twinged. Dylan wasn’t having relationship problems, the world had problems with his relationship. Dylan was overwhelmed with love and just wanted to show it. In a way I knew I’d never really understand. I wanted to try.

“And Eric doesn’t want to come out?”

Dylan shook his head. “I mean, he’d probably be mad if he knew you knew,” he admitted.

I thought long and hard about how to be sensitive to both of them. Even if I took Dylan’s side completely, he still might get upset if I wasn’t thinking fairly of Eric. That was just the kind of boy Dylan was.

“Well, Dylan… some people need more time than others.”

“We’ve had time,” Dylan sulked. It crossed my mind for the first time that this all might have been going on longer than I had suspected, but I didn’t pry.

“Is he perhaps frightened of what his family or friends might say?” I tried to phrase it gently. I knew the Harrises were a military family. That couldn't be easy.

Dylan nodded, agreeing with me. “Of course. I don’t want him to fuck up stuff with his family,” he said, looking over at me to gauge my reaction at his foul language. I let it slide. “We already get teased for being fags at school,” he told me sadly. “So if they’re saying it already, why does it matter?” That was certainly one way of looking at it. “I see guys kissing their girlfriends in the commons and people going on dates after school and people doing stuff like prom and I just… I want all of that too.”

There was a painful pause. Dylan stared at his hands.

“It’s hard to wait for people when we feel ready for something,” I told him. “But it’s also not fair to push him out of the closet if he’s not ready for it, Dylan.”

“I know,” he admitted, and I believed him. “I’d never do that to him. But even though we have each other I still feel really lonely sometimes.”

My heart ached for my son. To my surprise, he let me pull him into a half-hug, albeit reluctantly.

“I’m sorry. That’s really tough.” My words were useless, but it was all I could think of. “Have you tried talking to Eric about how you feel?”

Dylan shrugged. “Eric doesn’t do feelings.”

I wish I knew what to say, or had some way to help my son.

—Sue

***

“I can’t believe you told your fuckin’ mom about us,” Eric groaned. “Why, dude?”

Dylan sat there with no answer.

“Let me get this right - you’re mad at _me_ because I don’t want to get the shit kicked out of me. I don’t want to have people yell at my face at me or call me names and that's my fucking problem? I’m not a faggot, Dylan, and if we start doing that shit in public, that’s all I’ll ever be to anybody,” Eric glared.

Dylan got it. It just fucking sucked. Eric’s always been the one out of the two of them who was more likely to be bullied or beat up, anyway. Dylan escaped the worst of it because of his height. He listened to Eric continue his rant. 

“Just because your parents think the sun shines out your ass doesn’t mean the rest of us are so lucky.”

Dylan frowned at that and flopped down onto Eric’s bed. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry! I love you and I just want to be able to show you whenever the fuck I want like everyone else does, instead of worrying and waiting until we’re alone,” Dylan moped.

Eric was silent. Had Dylan meant to say that?

Dylan looked back at Eric blankly and Eric realized that Dylan didn’t know what he said. Fucker. “Say that again,” Eric challenged, testing his boyfriend.

“Say what again?”

“You don’t know, do you?” Eric scrambled to his knees in front of Dylan. 

Dylan recounted his words in his head, his eyes going wide when he realized what he said to Eric. _I love you and I just want to be able to show you whenever the fuck I want._

Eric smirked at his boyfriend as he figured it out. “Me too. I mean… I love you, too,” Eric told him.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Eric replied decisively. “I do.”

A hint of a smile played on Dylan’s face. Eric could tell Dylan was delighted that Eric said it back, even if he hadn’t intended to say it in the first place. He stopped his griping and kissed Dylan. It was messy, full of spit and teeth and lust. For a moment, the two of them forgot about what the world thought.

It’s the best part of whatever they are.

***

_December 11, 1998_

I always looked forward to my little chats with Dylan. Ever since he told me about Eric, I felt like he had let me in on something, had shared something special about himself with me.

“Dylan? Sweetheart?”

Dylan stopped what he was doing to come talk to me. I asked him about school and work, and led up to my biggest curiosity. “How are things with Eric?”

Dylan looked pensive and nodded. “Good. Yeah, they’re good.” I waited to see if he’d continue. “I stopped pressuring him to live his life on my schedule.”

I blinked. “That’s very mature of you, Dylan.”

He shrugged. “That’s what love is, mom,” he added. His statement took me by surprise. Love? He was only seventeen.

“Well, I’m glad things are working out.” I truly was. While Eric Harris may not have been my first choice of partner for my son, they clearly cared about each other. I could see that, and Dylan had just explicitly told me as much. “You know, you could bring him to family dinner sometime. I want you to know he’s welcome.”

“Thanks, but - I don’t think so.” There was that look on his face again. I wanted to know why Dylan didn’t feel comfortable bringing his boyfriend around in a more… official capacity. Eric might not be my favorite person in the world, but I wanted to make an effort to get to know him, the same way I would with any of Dylan’s girlfriends. If he was important to Dylan, then surely there was a reason. “Eric’s not into that typical boyfriend stuff.”

“But you are?”

“Maybe,” he shrugged. Dylan had always been sensitive. I got an idea.

“Don’t say no to the idea of dinner too fast… I know the two of you can’t always be yourselves everywhere you want. But you can be here. Even in front of us. It could be nice. You might want to think about it.”

I hoped he would see the offer as genuine. As a mother, I didn’t know what I could do but if I could find a way to let Dylan be his most authentic self in my home… I could certainly try.

Dylan smiled. “Thanks, mom.”

—Sue

*

_December 15, 1998_

I had become accustomed to seeing things I wasn’t meant to see. I was taking a load of laundry down the stairs when I noticed Dylan and Eric standing awfully close to one another in front of the front door, saying their goodbyes for the evening.

Eric kept eyeing me suspiciously out of the corner of his eye. I wondered if Dylan had told him about our little chat, if this was perhaps some sort of test. The boys hugged each other, and then, with a glare in his eye, Eric leaned up and kissed Dylan, right in front of me. Oh yes, how vicious, I thought, watching Eric stand on his tiptoes to kiss my son.

I hid my smile.

—Sue

*

_December 26, 1998_

Dylan worked at convincing Eric to join us for a family meal after our conversation. Two weeks later, Eric gave in. Part of me couldn’t wait - this was the sort of milestone parents could get excited about, but it also meant spending an entire meal with Eric Harris. I wondered how we’d make it through, but I felt like this was a step in the right direction.

“Dinner will be ready around 7,” I called to Dylan. He’d been holed up in his room since coming home from school.

Half an hour later, there was a knock at the front door. Dylan came thundering down the stairs. “I’ll get it,” he hollered before anyone else could move. That must be Eric.

I finished up dinner, straining the pasta as I tried to overhear Dylan greeting Eric at the front door. A few moments later the boys made their way into the kitchen.

“Mom?” Dylan stepped out of the way to reveal Eric. He was devoid of his usual backwards hat and sunglasses; he was wearing a blue sweater and nice black pants. So this was Eric in “boyfriend” mode - he was making an effort, I had to give him that.

“Hello Mrs. Klebold,” he said politely. He offered his hand for a handshake and handed me a bottle of red wine, although neither Tom nor myself were big drinkers. I wondered briefly how he acquired it but chose to focus on the kindness of the gesture.

“Eric, you didn’t have to do that.”

“It’s no big deal, Mrs. Klebold,” he said. “Thank you for having me over for dinner.”

Dylan seemed nervous watching us interact. I wished there was a way to take his worry from him.

“Any time, Eric. And it’s Sue, please.” I turned to my son. “Dyl, would you mind setting the table?”

He agreed and Eric followed him into the dining room.

I was so pleased that we were having a family dinner. I wanted Dylan to feel like he could trust us.

I don’t know how I could have been so dumb.

Dinner began uneventfully, but things escalated quickly.

Byron, who had joined us for the evening, seemed to keep to himself, watching everything unfold with a disinterested amusement. Occasionally he would stare at Eric over his garlic bread like he had two heads. I made a silent note to address this with him later.

“So tell me what you’re working on in school, Dylan,” I asked, hoping to get some semblance of a conversation started. He began telling me about a project for their Video class. “You’re in that class too, aren’t you, Eric?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Now is that project something you two can work on together?”

Eric nodded.

“Well, that’s great, isn’t it?”

Tom let out an audible sigh and wiped his mouth on his napkin. He’d been silent all this time. He looked from Dylan to Eric, and back to Dylan again. Finally, he looked at me. “How long are we going to pretend like this is normal?”

“Tom.”

“Listen, Susan, this is not okay,” Tom continued. “Our son is engaged in something that is quite frankly, unnatural, and we are sitting here treating it like it’s something to be proud of, for goodness sake.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I had worked so hard to get us to this point, and now my husband was destroying it all.

A look of hurt flashed across Dylan’s face, one that morphed into anger. Pain flared behind his eyes.

“Tom, please —“ I started. “You’re being unfair.”

“I can’t believe you’re going to let him keep up with this faggot shit,” he criticized, motioning between the two boys.

Eric stood up at Tom’s obscenity, so quickly that the glasses on the table rattled. I’d been looking so much at Dylan that I’d forgotten to watch Eric’s reactions. He’d worked all night to seem calm and composed. Now, Eric was mad. His hands were shaking in fists at his side. Hatred brewed in his dark eyes and he stormed away from the table.

Avoiding looking at anyone, Dylan got up and followed Eric out of the room.

“I can’t believe you, Tom,” I said, stunned. “How could you say something like that?”

“This is ridiculous. It’s not right. These are bad habits and it’s not the sort of behavior we should be encouraging in this house.”

“Byron — would you excuse your father and I, please?”

I felt foolish for inviting Byron to witness his younger brother being treated like this.

“That you would love our son any less because he identifies this way - what is the matter with you?”

“Would you listen to yourself? He’s a homo. What’s next, a tattoo? Drugs? You saw what happened with Byron. _This_ is not an improvement. This is not the way to do better the second time around.”

“Dylan is never going to trust us again.”

“Fine! At least he won’t be doing that shit under my roof.”

I didn’t want to hear any more. This didn’t even sound like my husband.

So often things in life don’t go according to our plan.

—Sue

***

Dylan chased after Eric as he tore through the Klebold house. He didn’t stop for anything.

“Eric. Eric!” Dylan repeated. He finally caught up with him as he pushed through the front door. He reached for Eric’s sleeve. “ _Eric_.”

“This is exactly the shit I was talking about,” Eric hissed, putting his face in his hands. “I can’t believe I fell for that.”

Dylan was silent. His father’s actions felt inexcusable.

“Fuck!”

Dylan reached for Eric at his outburst, but he pushed his hand away. “I’m so sorry,” Dylan apologized. “That was not fair.”

“ _That_ was an ambush,” Eric protested. Dylan followed Eric to his car. They had nowhere to go but Dylan knew there was no way Eric was going back inside his house. “I feel like a dumbass,” Eric said.

Without many options, Eric wound up driving them out to Chatfield State Park. He found a secluded spot to park the car and lit a cigarette.

“That was fucked up, V.” Dylan couldn’t disagree. “All the shit I try to avoid… we walked right into it.”

“My mom said she really wanted to try. She said she wanted to understand. I didn’t think my dad was gonna be an asshole.”

“You never do,” Eric muttered.

“Huh?”

“You think everybody is fucking cool with it, even though I keep telling you they’re not. You never fucking believe me,” Eric went on. “It’s bullshit. Just because you’re into me doesn’t mean the whole world is. Just because you think that Reb and Vodka are fucking gods doesn’t mean that everybody bows to our love. We are still pariahs,” Eric spat. “We are still pieces of shit. The scum on the bottom of their shoe.”

Dylan didn’t argue with him. He let him rant. It was all true. Sometimes Dylan was a little blinded by his feelings for Eric.

“It doesn’t matter if it’s family, or jerks at school, or whatever. We don’t mean shit to them, and once they find out we’re a couple of fags we mean even less.”

Dylan winced. He tried to be open-minded, tried to imagine some kind of progressive future where this wasn’t the worst thing in the world, but he’d been called a fag by his father and his boyfriend in the last hour, and it felt like shit.

“Maybe we need to cool it. Maybe it’s best if we just forget about this for a while,” Eric said eventually.

“This… you mean you and me?”

Eric pursed his lips. “It’s still gonna be you and me,” he said. “Just… maybe we should forget about this boyfriend thing.”

Dylan felt nauseous. “Are you breaking up with me?”

Eric finished his cigarette and tossed the butt out the window. He looked at Dylan, who was watching him with a hopeless look. He saw Dylan - 6’3”, curly blond hair, blue eyes - but at the same time saw all the things that made him feel weak. He’d never felt attached to another human behind before, never felt the hot core within him go molten at someone else’s look - but at the same time, Dylan reminded him of all the times someone had given him a nasty look or thrown a slur at him, all of the times someone made him feel less like a man and more like something… subhuman.

“I mean… maybe just for a little while.”

Dylan stared out the window. A second passed and then he got out of the car, walking out into the night.

Eric groaned. 

“Dyl!” Eric stalked after Dylan, grabbing for him. “Dylan.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“V, then!” Dylan doesn’t look at him, but stops walking away for the time being. Eric stands in front of him, annoyed that he won’t look up. “Just for a while. Until people start to come around.”

Dylan shuffled from one foot to the other. “Which in your book won’t be for another ten fucking years,” Dylan complained. He started walking toward the water.

Eric waited and watched. Dylan found a spot in the snow away from Eric and sat down.

Eric gave him space for a moment before sitting down beside him. This wasn’t exactly what Eric had in mind for tonight.

“You act like it’s because I don’t like you or because I’m ashamed of you or whatever, but that's not it at all,” Eric explained. “I can’t. I can’t do it. People already look at me like I’m different and this is so much worse. It fucking sucks.”

Dylan wished he didn’t get it.

“So because other people don’t like it, you just… aren’t going to be with me,” Dylan said slowly.

Eric sat on his hands. “I don’t want to be reminded every single time I see some jock holding a chick in the hallway that we can’t do that. We’re not fucking allowed. Every time I see a couple at a restaurant or on a date or just existing I’m reminded that I’m not entitled to the same fucking privileges, no matter how bad I want it? It kills me.”

Dylan looked away, like he was trying to hide his face. He seemed upset. “You’re going to take it all away just because of that?”

“Just for a while. Not forever.”

Dylan wanted to puke. He wanted to throw himself into the frozen lake.

“I love you,” Dylan said, a desperate plea. His voice was hollow.

Eric pushed down the feeling in his chest and didn’t say anything.

“What about prom?” Dylan asked, when it was clear that Eric wasn’t going to say anything else. Eric had already asked Dylan to go. While they wouldn’t have really been able to be themselves (not completely), they had planned to at least hang out together under the guise of being friends, and go with each other to the after-prom party.

“So maybe that’s not the best idea right now either,” Eric said.

Dylan wanted to tear his heart from his ribcage. “Right,” he managed to choke. He pulled his knees to his chest, and when he finally turned back to Eric, he looked hopeless. Eric could tell even in the dark that his eyes were raw. Eric wondered if he’d say anything else but it was a few minutes before he spoke up again.

“I just want to burn it all, man.”

“What if we could?”

“What?”

“What if we could make them pay for the way they treat us? Kill all those motherfuckers,” Eric said, leaning back on his hands. They were starting to go numb from the cold.

Dylan seemed to come around to the idea quickly. “Anybody that doesn’t like us, just blow their brains out.”

“Fuck yeah,” Eric agreed. Their eyes locked. 

Snow started to fall again. Eric stood up and offered Dylan a hand. “Snow is gay. Come on. Let’s get drunk.”

*

Eric’s first order of business was locating a bottle of Baileys from somewhere in his closet.

In the middle of winter, Eric’s basement got frigid quick - normally Dylan would try and sit next to Eric, leech some of his warmth, but it felt inappropriate now, so Dylan sat down at the opposite end of the couch from him. Eric noticed Dylan shivering and let him borrow a black hoodie, which Dylan pulled over his head like a suit of armor. Maybe the liquor would heat him up.

Once they were deep into the bottle, Dylan referenced their conversation in the snow.

“So what would you use?” Dylan asked.

“Hmm?” Eric didn’t follow. He took a long drink of the liqueur, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

Dylan made a shooting motion with his fingers, imitating a blast.

Eric grinned, leaning forward, invested in the idea. “Shotgun.”

Dylan tried to picture it. He smiled, imagining serving punishment to anyone who’d ever looked at them the wrong way. “Can you imagine if we blew up the school?”

“The commons? Or — the cafeteria,” Eric decided. “Way more people would be in the cafeteria at lunch.”

“Nobody would be able to comprehend how godlike we are.”

“We should do it,” Eric said, looking long and hard at Dylan. “Like, for real.”

Dylan didn’t take long to think it over before agreeing. “Yeah. We should.”

That was that.

*

They decided to call it NBK. It’s something Dylan had thought about before but never launched into reality. Without a relationship to distract them, Eric and Dylan fell headfirst into the preparations for their judgment day.

Dylan threw himself into planning NBK with Eric. If he couldn’t have Eric as his love, he’d take what he could get (even if it was his partner in crime). The pair were still inseparable, weirdly, but Dylan knew that his and Eric’s existences were fated for each other - one way or another.

*

After a long night of scheming, side by side in Eric’s bed, they’re closer than they’ve been in ages. Eric handed a green spiral notebook to Dylan.

Dylan held the notebook sideways to examine his drawing, a diagram for a small pipe bomb. “Nice,” he complimented Eric.

Eric leaned over Dylan and turned the page for him. He pointed to a notation on another diagram where the fuse was connected by a wire to a small timer. “Look. I’ve figured it out where instead of using a clock we can use pieces from a plastic watch.”

“This is gonna work.” Dylan was certain. Not just the bombs, but their whole macabre plan. A morbid frenzy struck him, and when he looked into Eric’s eyes, he felt it take him over.

It was all too easy for Dylan to close the gap between them. It still felt natural. Dylan’s mouth brushed against Eric’s, a familiar spark running up his spine as their lips touched. It felt so good to kiss Eric again; Dylan loved the taste of him.

Eric indulged him for only a second before stopping Dylan with a hand on his chest. “We really shouldn’t,” he cautioned, voice low.

Heart pounding, Dylan pulled back. Eric licked his lips.

Unable to pull away completely, Eric reached his index finger out and wrapped it around Dylan’s finger, a subtle gesture, one that arose from a need to be close to him still, somehow, in some small way.

Dylan kept his eyes trained on Eric’s - neither one could look away. Breath mingling between their bodies, they held completely still. They stayed like that until their breathing slowed down and they fell together into sleep.

In the morning when Dylan woke up, Eric was pressed close against his back, an arm thrown around his waist in the same way they used to wake up from sleepovers before Dylan started exclusively using the couch. Dylan didn’t know if it hurt or comforted him that Eric still moved close to him so naturally in his sleep, but he relished in it while he could. Dylan closed his eyes and tried not to think about how much he missed the way Eric’s hand felt pressed against his side.

Later, when Dylan really got up, for good, Eric was already out of bed. He was seated at his computer playing a video game with the sound turned low.

Dylan watched Eric for a little while before sitting up. He didn’t seem to notice that Dylan had stirred until he finished his game, and he certainly didn’t say anything about falling asleep together, if he had even noticed. His first words were about NBK, as they were more often than not, these days.

“Get up, bitch. We’re getting shells today!”

***

_April 10, 1999_

Dylan had been spending more and more time out of the house lately. When he was home, he was locked away in his room. I found myself standing outside his bedroom door.

“Dylan? Honey?” I could hear rustling on the other side of the door. After a moment or two, he opened it, his dark figure taking up most of the frame. “How’s it going?” I didn’t know what else to ask.

“I’m kinda busy, mom,” he said, picking up his backpack.

“I’m making meatloaf for dinner tonight and I’d like it very much if you would join us.”

Dylan shook his head. “I’ve got a big project due on Monday.”

So it went like that, for weeks and weeks.

April rolled around, and it surprised me when Dylan began talking about going to the prom with a girl named Robyn Anderson. I knew Dylan had already made plans to go to the prom with Eric. It was one of the last things he’d revealed to me before the big dinner debacle at the end of last year.

“Can I ask you something?”

Dylan looked pained. “I guess.”

“I thought… I had assumed you were going to the prom with Eric.” I saw nothing but pain on Dylan’s face at my remark. I watched it transform into a sneer.

“Ha ha. Very fuckin’ funny.”

“Dylan!” I couldn’t believe he was using language like that. “I don’t understand.”

“You think he wanted anything to do with me after that shit you and dad pulled at Christmas?”

“You two are still friends. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah. _Friends_ ,” Dylan hissed, like it was a dirty word. “Eric dumped me after we invited him here to be attacked.”

My heart sank. I had no idea. Dylan had never said anything and I’d never asked. While I had spoken with my husband, I hadn’t paused to consider that the fallout had been much greater than I’d imagined. I had no idea that night - as rough as it had been - could have done so much to Dylan and Eric’s burgeoning relationship. “I… Dylan, I’m sorry,” I apologized, trying to find the right words. “I had no clue.”

“Would you have even cared if I told you?” Dylan remarked, sour. Of course I would have.

“You have to understand that I had no idea your father was going to act like that. What happened at that dinner was never my intention.”

“Yeah, well, the road to Hell is paved with good intentions.”

Just like that, he was down the stairs and out the door.

—Sue

***

Prom is held three days before Eric and Dylan plan to go NBK. Eric tried unsuccessfully to get a date in an attempt to make Dylan jealous. Dylan had been mystified by Eric’s anger over Dylan attending prom with Robyn. Apparently he’d thought the two of them would still go as friends.

“It doesn’t mean anything. Prom is a meaningless high school ritual,” Dylan tried to discourage Eric. It seemed strange that now all of a sudden Eric would be bothered over not having a date to prom. Maybe he should have thought of that before stomping on Dylan’s heart a couple of months ago.

 _Eric would find something else to gripe over if it wasn’t this_ , Dylan thought.

Eric's last resort is to meet up with Dylan and his date Robyn at the after-prom party in the gym. Dylan tried to split his time between Eric and Robyn, feeling obligated to both his best friend and to his prom date.

After the party, Robyn took Eric and Dylan home. She put on a Dave Matthews Band CD that made Eric want to kill himself, but he rode quietly in the backseat of Robyn’s light blue Honda and looked out the window. He was still in a mood following the party; he’d started lashing out while playing some of the games and Dylan had never been able to figure out why.

After the winding and quiet drive down Dylan’s street, Robyn pulled into Dylan’s driveway to drop the boys off.

“Have a good night, Dylan,” Robyn said politely, looking over to him. “Eric.”

“Bye,” Dylan answered. His gentlemanly demeanor from before the dance had disappeared.

“Bye,” Eric echoed as he slammed the car door. “Whore,” he added under his breath.

Dylan looked up and raised his eyebrows but didn’t say anything to Eric. Maybe it was easier not to fight.

*

One more day.

“Last meal,” Dylan said dramatically after they left the Outback Steakhouse parking lot. As he turned Eric’s car stereo on, he realized this might be the last time he ever heard this song, too.

It was time to make one final stop at Eric’s house.

Both of them were on their knees in the middle of Eric’s basement, almost finished taking stock of everything for the big day. The air was thick with the tension of tomorrow’s events looming ahead of them.

Eric finished loading a duffel bag. Looking to Dylan for a reaction, he picked up a pipe bomb and kissed it.

Dylan laughed at his antics, a wide smile that showed his teeth.

Eric’s dark eyes, trained on Dylan, became serious. Pipe bomb still in his hands, schemes and strategies momentarily forgotten, he leaned in and tried to kiss Dylan this time.

Eric’s lips were soft, and he tasted like the steak he’d eaten at Outback. Dylan couldn’t take it; this hurt too much. Eric might need this now knowing it’s the last night of his life, but Dylan had wanted this every other night, life or death, although he had spent a great deal of time training himself not to. Dylan would have lived for this, and he wanted to be more than a dying man’s last chance.

Dylan pulled away, swallowing. “We should focus,” Dylan whispered, even if it killed him to say the words. “We’re going to be dead tomorrow.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right,” Eric agreed, shaking his head, snapping out of it and pulling away. “I don’t know what got into me.”

“S’cool,” Dylan shrugged.

They returned their attention to the pipe bombs. Dylan crossed items off a list in a spiral notebook and let the words “ _dead tomorrow_ ” flow through his head like a mantra.

*

Eric dropped Dylan off at his house around 8:30pm that night.

Dylan hesitated for just a second before getting out of Eric’s car, but Eric watched him walk away. He was almost to the house when Eric rolled the window down and shouted to Dylan. “V!”

Dylan’s bony shoulders froze, and he turned around to look at Eric’s car. 

Eric stared at the dark outline of his tall form in the shadows.

“Yeah?”

“Nothing,” Eric said. Fear took the words from his mouth. He said the only thing he could think of. What else was there left to say? “Good night.”

“Good night, Reb.”

*

April 20, 1999.

Time to break free.


End file.
